Our teenage twins are constantly in motion. If you blink, you miss ‘em!

Denali Dazzles

Denali dazzles when she runs. Pippi Longstocking braids fall past her waist and become scarlet jet trails that fly behind her as she whizzes past. It’s a blur of freckles- hazel eyes flashing with determination, all long gangly legs and pumping arms. The air is whipped into a tornado, a monsoon, a Santa Ana whopper of a windstorm when Denali flashes by. If you blink, you miss the show, it’s as simple as that! The birds, bees, flowers and trees shake their heads, wings, blossoms and branches in amazement. What the hell was that anyway? All that’s left behind is a cloud of dust, just like after the Roadrunner once again pulls the wool over Wile E. Coyote’s eyes.

When Denali jumps, watch out! Flying through the air like a whirling dervish, arms helicoptering with reckless abandon, she splits the sky with a sonic BOOM! Falcons, hummingbirds and swifts can’t hope to keep up with Denali. She lands with a tremendous splash, sand flying madly all around, completely engulfing her in a yellow-brown haze. Denali stands and flips her head from side to side, braids shedding sand like a dog shaking water from its fur. She’s focused and determined, hazel eyes burning with joy and purpose. Denali dazzles, she razzles, she never frazzles!

Sam Spins

When Sam spins, he always wins. Lucky 7 coming up roses, paying off with a jingle-jangle of gold, cascading down the run. Sam spins like a dervish in a turban, a turbine whirling, crackling with electric energy, always charging forward. His skateboard flies through the sky; four wheels spin, Sam spins, the world turns, our blue planet whirls through time and space. Sam is riding this cosmic twirling wave into the future. Brown hair- wild, free and freaky, flying out from under a black skater’s cap, earrings of silver dangling, glinting, reflecting back the sun’s energy. How does he do it? The board goes this way, then that way, Sam goes yet another way, all arms and legs; baggy jeans billowing out like parachutes when he goes airborne. Say hello to the hawks and eagles circling up there son. Float back to earth just in time to crash down perfectly on your board. The wood bows, almost breaks, but somehow manages to stay in one piece. Grinding, wood on cement, wood on metal. Like a cowboy bucking a bronco Sam stays with it until both board and boy run out of steam, only to start up again and again until the last bit of daylight melts into indigo, into purple, into black. Stars light the way now. Roll on my boy, roll on!